Light Diminished
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Lorn hoped that he'd made the right decision, risking civil war by letting Hunt leave Tarazed. But he supposed it didn't matter - it was unlikely he'd live long enough to find out.


_The lamps are going out all over Europe, we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime._

Edward Grey, just prior to Britain's entry into the First World War, CY 8149

 **Light Diminished**

"Hiding in the dark. I suppose that's the best thing for you to do right now."

Lorn ignored the jab as he looked over the courtroom. The lights were out here. Some said that the lights were going out all over the Commonwealth, that it was in the throes of civil war. Others said that it wasn't, but soon would be.

"You know this will lead to civil war, right?"

Jemma, it seemed, was in the latter camp. The pessimistic, rather than fatalistic camp.

"And that some believe that it can all be traced back to you."

"Some," Lorn murmured, looking over the room. The room where Hunt and members of his crew had stood as Pish Tyran had tried to discredit them (and succeeded, officially). "Some is such a broad term, Tri-Jemma. I could also say that some people believe that Tarazed is flat. Chances are that 'some' actually do, as few as they may be."

"You know what I mean." His fellow triumvir stood beside him. Lorn took a quick glance at her lower body – no blaster, no blade, no anything that would indicate assassination.

"So," she said, her gaze not meeting Lorn's own. "How does it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"The knowledge that you may have saved the Commonwealth or damned it. And that you likely won't live long enough to find out."

Lorn glanced at her.

"That wasn't a threat," she said. "I'm just stating the facts."

"Stating the facts," he murmured. "That's refreshing, isn't it?"

Both triumvirs stood in silence. He didn't know where Tri-Camille was. Or Pish for that matter. With the battlelines being drawn, maybe it was best to not take sides before more shots were fired.

 _And has Jema taken a side?_

He glanced at his fellow triumvir, her gaze resolutely forward. No, not yet, he decided. But he suspected that she was going to, and very soon.

 _Of course. That's it._

This wasn't idle conversation. Jema wanted to know where he stood. Jema wanted to be on the winning side. She wanted to live. Not a bad idea really, if not for the worldship bearing down on the Tri-Galaxies. That nasty little inconvenience that made all of this pointless.

"Why did you do it?" she asked. "Freeing Hunt. Ordering your own ships to stand down. Risking a civil war."

 _Oh, so it's only a risk now, is it?_

"Was it all worth it?"

 _Alright, I'll play_. Lorn kept his gaze forward, but began to speak, "there's a saying I once read. 'It's the captain that makes the ship.'" He looked at her. "I believe that Hunt is the best asset we have. I'd rather have him and the Andromeda pointing their guns at the magog, rather than being appropriated for God knows what."

"Some say that there is indeed a god," Jema murmured. "And that he's bearing down on us."

"Really?" Lorn asked. "Well, I'm sure the Nietzscheans won't be happy about that. After all, a certain philosopher that they admire said that God was dead, and man has killed him." He clicked his fingers. "But of course, that hasn't happened, has it? No. The Nietzscheans are attacking themselves, the Commonwealth, and everyone else across Known Space rather than going after the actual threat." He sighed. "Not dissimilar to what we're doing."

"The difference is, we're not Nietzscheans," Jema said.

"Really," Lorn sneered. "Well, you could have fooled me. Because even for a politician, your sense of self-survival is astounding."

Jema made a spluttering sound, and Lorn grinned. Maybe this was about alliances. But he knew the real reason Jema was here – absolution. He'd done the right thing. She knew he'd done the right thing. She just wanted the means to tell herself that what she'd done, bringing charges against Hunt, was the 'right thing' as well.

"Well," Jema murmured. "Survival won't mean anything now. The Commonwealth's on the verge of civil war. The worldship is less than two months away. And what you did was sacrifice unity for your 'ace in the hole.'"

"I did," Lorn said. "You can have that on record if you want. That Hunt's our best bet, that the Collectors are with the Abyss, and that Hunt, maniac that he is, is going to go and try and kill God." He laughed softly. "And that I'd gladly lead an entire fleet into the depths of Hell if he lead me there."

"He may have already led us there," Jema said. She sighed, and Lorn looked at her. She was smiling, but there was no joy there.

"Stay safe Lorn," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "I don't know how safe any of us are going to be."

Another non-threat. Lorn almost missed the old days of Tarazed. The days where political survival was just that. Not 'political survival in the midst of angry space goblins that want to kill us all.'

Still, he remained there, looking at the darkened room. He had remembered how the lights had gone out, how he had felt. That he'd done a terrible, but necessary thing, that he had chosen the lesser of two evils, neither of them close to what could constitute being "good." That if the lights were ever to be re-lit, he would not be alive to see them.

 _Whatever,_ he thought. _I hate courtrooms anyway._

Still, he reflected, he hated dying even more. All he could hope for was validation, if a universe existed to validate him at all when this was all over.

 _I suppose I can live with that._

At least, that's what he told himself.


End file.
